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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502822">Statement Piece</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF, Youtuber RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Boys in dresses, Clothing has no gender, Clothing is Genderless, Developing Friendship, Developing Relationship, Dresses, Femininity, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots To Loves, Idiots in Love, Krymménos, LGBT Themes, LGBT+ Characters, LGBT+ themes, Light Angst, M/M, Queer Culture, Queer Exploration, Soft Ethan Nestor, Soft Mark Fischbach, Supportive Mark Fischbach, anxious Ethan Nestor, boys loving boys, boys wearing dresses, crankiplier - Freeform, gender expression, identity exploration, soft boys in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan struggles with wanting to wear a dress.<br/>Mark does what Mark does best.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Statement Piece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always this work is intended creatively and is not an accurate reflection of nor intended in any disrespect towards the persons mentioned; their family; their friends; their representatives or their significant others. Please do not send this work to any of the aforementioned persons.</p><p>Since you guys have expressed an interest in me writing about femininity, feminine clothing and gender/queer exploration; please humbly accept this offering. This work is not focused on the sexual side of the above themes, diverging from my past works. I <i>adore</i> seeing you guys enjoy what I write and be able to relate to or take away from my works. I hope you guys enjoy!<br/>-JJH</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ethan was panicking. </p><p>Mark couldn't explain how he knew - it was like a sixth sense. He reached for his phone without a second thought, sending off a simple text. </p><p>
  <strong>[Mark]</strong><br/>
<strong>What's wrong?</strong><br/>
<strong>[14:24]</strong>
</p><p>The reply came several minutes later, long enough that he debated simply calling. </p><p>
  <strong>[Ethan]</strong><br/>
<strong>I hate how you do that.</strong><br/>
<strong>]14:40]</strong><br/>
<strong>I want to wear a dress. On Friday. I bought a dress and now I have it and I want to wear it.</strong><br/>
<strong>[14:41]</strong>
</p><p>Mark's brows climbed a little. Ethan wanting to wear a dress wasn't all that surprising - especially given the whole maid outfit event. Ethan had been progressively settling into his skin over the years, more so with Unus Annus and the excuse to be and do whatever. It made Mark proud beyond measure; happy for his friend and honoured to watch him grow. </p><p>What was surprising was that Ethan was freaking out about it. Ordinarily Ethan was game to do near enough anything; especially behind a camera. Mark had lost count of the times they'd worn makeup, done each other's nails, hair, worn dresses or traditionally feminine accessories together. He frowned a little and hit the call button, putting his game on mute as he waited for it to go through. Ethan picked up on the fifth ring, sounding jittery and nervous. </p><p>"Why are you freaking out over wearing a dress?"</p><p>"I never said that," Ethan huffed, but Mark could hear him chewing on something on the end of the line, fidgeting restlessly. All Mark had to do was wait him out. And then-</p><p>"I just...I'm nervous. Yeah, I'm freaking out. It's not like wearing a dress on camera or doing it for a bit, y'know? It's real. It's like, the real world. Like I could be walking down the street and some old guy who's probably dying of scoliosis or some shit because he doesn't eat right is going to tell me I'm a freak and I can't-- I can't <em>handle</em> that. Not in person. Not now."</p><p>"I--" Mark began, blowing out a breath. "Okay, first of all, there's <em>so</em> <em>much</em> wrong with that statement. Secondly; what you do on camera is part of real life, too. In fact - more people see what you do on camera than in your daily life," he said calmly, pausing his game. He knew why Ethan was freaking out. Something like this happened every so often, when Ethan's mental mental health hit a low point and the nerves and the doubts came creeping in. </p><p>"Nothing changes if you wear a dress," he reminded him, shifting on his seat, pushing away from his desk to slip a pair of shoes on. "So what if some old jackass makes a comment? What does that really change, if you don't let it get to you? He's a miserable, judgemental old fuck that'll die anyway and you're a happy dude in a dress with all his bills paid."</p><p>He's getting heated over a hypothetical man. That's the kind of thing Ethan does to him. </p><p>"You know it's incredibly frustrating when you're unfairly reasonable, right?" Ethan grumped in his ear as he scooped up his keys. "I'm freaking out here and you're just being calm and helpful. I hate it."</p><p>"I'm sorry, would you like me to start hyperventilating?" he drawled mildly, slipping into his car. There was a pause on the line as the engine rumbled to life.</p><p>"...No," Ethan sighed eventually over the sound of rustling in the background. "You're right. It's stupid. I shouldn't be losing my shit. It's just a dress. I've worn them before. I've looked stupider online."</p><p>Mark hummed. "You're only worked up about this because you know you've been on a downward slide lately. You feel comfortable in dresses and at the end of the day clothes are just pieces of fabric we use to cover ourselves and express our identity or aesthetic. Prejudice and judgement against that are purely societal and personal."</p><p>"You know my brain goes offline when you use big words," Ethan pouted.</p><p>The younger man hung up not long after and Mark pulled into a Starbucks drive-through, grabbing a cold brew for himself and the caramel monstrosity that Ethan liked best. Five minutes later he pulled up outside Ethan's house, cutting the engine and wrestling with his keys, the drinks holder and the door. He fared slightly better when it came to Ethan's door, letting himself in and holding the drinks out of Spencer's reach as the dog barrelled at his legs. </p><p>"Hey, bud. Pets in a minute. Show me where he is," he greeted, following Spencer through the house. As he began to ascend the stairs, Ethan popped into view over the railing.</p><p>"Mark? What are yo- is that coffee? Is that a caramel macchiato?" Ethan leaned low over the railing, making grabby hands until Mark was close enough for him to lift the drink, immediately disappearing over the railing again. Mark wandered into Ethan's room and took a seat on the edge of the bed, spare hand finding Spencer's soft ears.</p><p>"Do your seven-eleven breathing. What dress did you buy?" Mark guided, catching the wad of black fabric thrown at his head as Ethan collapsed into the reading chair with a groan. When he shook it out he was surprised - the dress was relatively plain and simple, nothing particularly risqué or outlandish. All black, it had a white lace hem and a small, heart-shaped cutout on the chest. Mark wagered it would come roughly down to above Ethan's knees, and the sleeves would wrap tightly around his biceps. </p><p>"It's cute. You should wear it," he noted. Even though he took part in friendly mocking or roasting now and then he was a firm believer that people should wear what made them feel comfortable; and it was very hard to look goofy or strange in a simple black dress. "Maybe pair it with boots instead of sneakers, though. And dinner is in the evening, so pack a jacket."</p><p>"Just like that," Ethan stated, staring at him. "Just wear it."</p><p>"Isn't that the intended purpose of clothing?" Mark supplied.</p><p>"Dresses are for girls."</p><p>"Men have worn dresses, tunics, robes and skirts since the dawn of the caveman homo-sapien-sapien. Also, that's rather close-minded," Mark responded, taking a sip of his drink. Ethan's expression twisted.</p><p>"You know what I meant," he bitched, ignoring Mark's gentle look. </p><p>"Ethan. There's nothing I can really say to you that I haven't already. You wanted to wear a dress enough that you went and chose a specific one and bought it. You're only working yourself up over it because you've been pushing yourself and dealing with a downward trip of your mental health. I can't force you to wear it or tell you anything that you don't already know." At his side Spencer turned to blink at Ethan with round, owlish eyes, as though to say <em>listen to him, Dad</em>.</p><p>Ethan huffed at them both. "I know. You're right; as always." He went quiet and Mark let him, filling the silence by cooing at Spencer and sipping his drink. Eventually Ethan offered to cook him lunch and Mark reminded him of the sore tummies they'd both ended up with last time that offer was made and took charge of feeding them both, whipping up some sandwiches before they squirrelled away to Ethan's recording room to play some games.</p><p>Ethan skirted any discussion of it in the time leading up to Friday, dismissing the topic whenever it was broached. Mark let him; not wanting to push him and contribute towards the growing sense of pressure and unease that Ethan was no doubt putting on himself already. </p><p>And, honestly, he was unsurprised when Ethan pulled up in the parking lot on the Friday evening and slipped out of his car, wearing a pair of black jeans and one of his recent <em>Soft Boi</em> hoodie releases. He was tense and he avoided Mark's gaze as he greeted the group, fidgeting on the spot and looking fit to flee when he finally stepped up to Mark. </p><p>"Don't say anything," Ethan pleaded tersely. Mark cast him a firm look with his head tipped. They both knew Mark wouldn't scold him for losing his nerve. The only person judging Ethan right now was Ethan.</p><p>"Your hoodie strings are lopsided," was all he said instead, knocking their shoulders together lightly before steering Ethan towards the restaurant. </p><p>As they waited for the hostess to seat them, he angled himself away from Ethan's line of sight and pulled out his phone.</p>
<hr/><p>On the night of their next group dinner he burst into Ethan's house unannounced and twenty minutes prior to when Ethan would've started to leave. He'd cashed in extra time because he knew Ethan would likely put up a fight, and Mark was in no losing mood night. He could hear music playing upstairs and he followed it, miffed that his loud entrance hadn't been seen.</p><p>Ethan's bedroom door was shut when he approached and he shoved it open with the same dramatic energy. Ethan was sat near the end of the bed and almost fell off it in surprise, phone clattering to the floor. "Mar-? What are you<em> wearing?"</em></p><p>Mark slowly folded his arms, staring the younger man down. What he was wearing was pretty obvious, thank you very much. Stood imposingly in the doorway he cut an impressive figure, if he'd care to bolster his own ego. The muscles he'd worked so hard for made the short sleeves of the dress cling and stretch, his abdomen muscles visible through the mesh that made up the bodice of the dress. It's skirt flared around his thighs and the straight-point collar made his collarbones pop.</p><p>"Get dressed," he commanded, squaring his shoulders and straightening up. He and Ethan weren't far off in height but Mark outweighed Ethan by a considerable amount of muscle. In the history of all their (loving) physical tousles, Ethan had only ever won against him twice; and Mark would steadfast argue that the first time was only because Ethan had accidentally kneed him in the gut hard enough to bring a tear to his eye.</p><p>"I'm- Mark, what are you doing? Why are you in a dress?" Ethan still looked confused, brows pulled as he shuffled off the bed and came slowly closer.</p><p>"I'm wearing a dress because you're being a big baby about wearing yours," Mark began, reaching out to poke him in the chest. "So you're gonna get your dress on, get ready, and we're <em>both</em> gonna wear dresses to dinner."</p><p>Ethan blinked. Mark faltered.</p><p>Ah, shit. He looked like he was about to cry.</p><p>"Please don't cry. I don't know what to do when people cry. Can I offer you a mint?" he tried, realising belatedly that his wallet and mints were still back in the car. </p><p>(He wholly agreed when women lamented the lack of pockets on female-designed clothing. He'd dropped stuff no less than five times since putting it on because he kept trying to put things in pockets he didn't have.)</p><p>"I'm not going to cry," Ethan sniffled, turning away to hide the fact that he was absolutely crying. Mark groaned and fell out of his defensive stance, padding away to get him a tissue because otherwise Ethan would just use his sweater sleeve like some kind of monster. Ethan thanked him quietly when he handed it over, wiping at his eyes and nose before falling to sit on the edge of his bed. "Did...Did you buy that just so I'd go to dinner in mine?"</p><p>"Well, you bought a special dress just for dinner, so. If you're making that effort I'm not going to be outdone," he huffed, joining Ethan on the bed, tucking his skirt carefully flat as he eased himself down, still enthralled by the way the material fluttered around his legs. He knocked their shoulders together and cast Ethan a warm smile. "Ethan. I know you're neutral about your sexuality, but clothing has absolutely no relation to gender or sexuality. You know that, right? It's fabric."</p><p>"People will assume."</p><p>"People will always assume," Mark noted kindly. "About what we eat. How we sleep. Who we love. The sizes of our dicks and what we like to do during sex. You know what and who you feel like and what gender you're comfortable as. Your truth is the only one that matters. I mean, look at The Rock. He's like the epitome of a straight, cisgendered dude and he has absolutely no issue with wearing makeup, dresses or playing tea-parties with his daughter. The only thing that matters about you wearing a dress is how good it makes me feel."</p><p>"I hate when you get all senscal - sense...Cel? Fuck it, when you talk and it makes sense," Ethan huffed, head dropping onto his shoulder briefly. </p><p>"You've said that before," Mark hummed with a smirk. </p><p>Ethan took several more minutes of convincing, working through the three stages of panic before he eventually conceded and shuffled off, pulling his dress out of where he'd stuffed it into a drawer to presumably hide form the shame he felt whenever he looked at it. It was stupefying, sometimes. How well Mark knew the man he'd come to consider almost part of himself. Part of his life, for certain. He couldn't imagine his current life, career and mental state without Ethan being somehow involved.</p><p>Ethan shuffled off into the bathroom to dress, ever conscious about how he looked, and Mark dug his phone out of the waistband of his boxers, tapping onto the group chat and firing off a few responses while he waited. When Ethan stepped out he'd brushed and gelled his hair, sprayed aftershave, brushed his teeth and straightened himself up a little. He still looked nervous, hands fluttering around the skirt hem, fingers rubbing restlessly, but he didn't seem to be freaking out.</p><p>Much.</p><p>"Hey, look at me." Mark pushed himself to his feet and stepped into Ethan's space, hands on his jaw to stop him from looking away. "Do you trust me?"</p><p>Ethan nodded without hesitation. Mark gave a warm smile, petting at him momentarily. </p><p>"Good. So trust me now, okay? I won't let anything happen to you. And I'm perfectly capable of fighting assholes in a skirt."</p><p>Ethan gave a watery laugh, leaning into his hands for a moment before Mark pulled away. "Alright, alright. Fuck off. Enough with this gooey, emotional shit. Let's go before Amy starts reaming me about being late." She wouldn't, but Ethan didn't need to know that. Especially not when Ethan's healthy fear of Amy's authority had a tendency to work in his favor. Once Ethan had packed his phone, wallet and keys into a little hip-pack they made their way out to the car. </p><p>Mark suffered through a solid five minutes of Ethan bouncing his leg and tapping on the door before he reached out, swatting at Ethan's shoulder. "Don't make me stuff you in the trunk."</p><p>"I'd let you stuff my trunk any day," Ethan leered at him, but he switched the incessant movement to rubbing his hands over his own thighs, which still distracting but not half as bad. Mark wished there was a magic way he could erase all of Ethan's doubts and anxieties but at the same time he was loathe to rob him of the learning experience and growth. </p><p>"It'll be okay," he said instead of answering the jest, deliberately not letting Ethan deflect from his feelings. They were both far too good at that and it had to stop. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, the restaurant of the month not too far from where Ethan lived. He parked and slipped out, pulling out his phone as he waited for Ethan to join him. Amy and Sean were already inside and at their table.</p><p>It took him a solid minute to realise Ethan still hadn't left the car. Heaving a sigh he turned and slipped around the vehicle, yanking open the door before Ethan had a chance to flip the lock. "Nope. We're not doing this," he stated firmly, leaning in. Ethan put up a valiant fight (not really) but once Mark managed to get his arms under Ethan's and around his chest it was game over. Mark could bench <em>and</em> squat more than Ethan weighed.</p><p>"This is kidnapping!" Ethan yelled, ducking as Mark swat at him.</p><p>"It would be if I was trying to shove you <em>into</em> the car. Moron," he huffed, gripping him by the back of his dress and pulling him along the street. They garnered a few looks, especially from the hostess when Mark physically shoved a squealing Ethan through the door, but nobody said anything and her expression smoothed out immediately as she guided them towards their table.</p><p>When Ethan stopped dead halfway there, Mark let him. They were in full view of the table now and of Amy and Sean, who both leapt up from their seats, waving cheerfully. Amy looked stunning in a red and blue floral maxi-dress that clung to her form and Sean was certainly the centre of attention in the bright green mini dress he'd chosen, complete with a little green bow clipped into his hair.</p><p>"What..." Ethan sounded strangled, looking helplessly over to Mark. His eyes looked wet again and he'd hunched in on himself, looking small as he shied away from the few curious glanced sent their way. Nobody had thus far said anything; but then Mark had been deliberately projecting as much 'assholes don't interact' energy as he could. He let go of Ethan in order to sling an arm over his shoulders, squeezing him gently with a fond smile before he steered him towards the table. </p><p>"I told you. Clothing is just fabric and we've all got your back. If someone wants to be an asshole because you're wearing a dress they're gonna have to be an asshole to <em>all</em> of us. And I like our odds. Especially since Amy just got those pointy nails done," he teased, shoving Ethan gently into the open arms of their friends. </p>
<hr/><p>They attracted plenty of stares during dinner - but plenty of compliments, too. Their waitress was all smiles and eager to know where they'd all bought their outfits and even comped them two sharing desserts for the table, and an old man a few tables across from them politely interrupted their meal to let them know he'd grown up heterosexual but with a love for the bravery and creativity of queer folk and that he was desperately happy to see being queer was no longer a thing to be hidden.</p><p>By the end of the dinner Ethan had been pink-cheeked for the whole thing, alternating between looking like he was about to cry (joyfully, Mark hoped) and looking like he'd about burst out of his skin with happiness. They all took selfies and argued about who had the nicest dress and when the time came for the cheque Ethan looked...</p><p>Softer. More relaxed. At ease in a way he hadn't been even when he'd conceded earlier to Mark's support. As if the physical evidence of the evening had provided positive connotation to his doubts and the act of wearing the dress away from a 'bit' setting. Mark was paying his part of the tab when Ethan knocked their knees together, glancing at him quickly before returning his stare to the table. "<em>Thank you,</em>" he murmured lowly, almost embarrassed by the gratitude. </p><p>"No chick-flick moments," Mark uttered back, but he was smiling when he said it and Ethan caught that, smiling softly and fiddling with the hem of his dress. He diverted when he was nervous, something Mark had taken notice of right from the beginning. Even if it meant making a fool of himself, Ethan would do near enough anything to take away from the situation when he didn't know what to do with himself and everything he was thinking or feeling.</p><p>"You're staring," someone whispered off to his side and he turned, catching Amy's gentle smile. He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed at getting caught, pulling a face at her before glancing over at Ethan again. Amy reached under the table and took his hand, linking their fingers and squeezing briefly. He squeezed back, running his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles. There was a time, long ago and not that long at all, where he could've loved her.</p><p>And he did. Love her. Just not in the way he'd expected himself to, and that everyone around them had expected him to. The chemistry they'd immediately sparked seemed to have completely bypassed any romantic possibility and settled straight into the bone-deep warmth of familial love. A more sibling-like bond.</p><p>At first he'd been annoyed with himself for it. Amy was beautiful, talented, kind and shared more than a few of his views and interests. By all means she was a perfect fit for him, albeit a touch shyer and not half as eager to be on stage or camera. If they ever had fallen in love she could've easily been someone he could spend the rest of his life with. Get married, maybe have a child or two in the future. </p><p>And yet. </p><p>Ethan's laugh pulled him out of his thoughts and caught his gaze again. He watched the way Ethan's cheeks bunched up as he laughed, the way he threw his whole body into those hiccupped giggles, sniggering and thoroughly delighted at Sean's antics. </p><p><em>Yes,</em> Mark thought. <em>He couldn't loved Amy. And yet.</em></p><p>They finished their drinks and said their goodbyes, laughing at Sean's lack of foresight to bring a jacket against the early-night chill as they stepped out into the street. Sean gave Ethan a speech on 'fucking the opinions of others and kicking ass in a petticoat' and Amy pulled him to the side afterwards, giving him a more gentle, genuine coach along the same lines. Mark stepped away to give them privacy, briefly catching Ethan's attention to let him know he'd wait at the car.</p><p>He settled against the side of the vehicle, arm around his chest and ankles crossed as he scrolled through his phone, looking at the photos they'd taken of the night. It was a memory he knew he'd cherish for a long time, one he would look back on in moments where he wasn't feeling as great as he could. They were all bright eyed and carefree, prospering in their own little bubble.</p><p>Footsteps caught his attention and he looked up, huffing his hair out of the way as Ethan approached. He looked a little starry-eyed, but Amy's unerring support could do that to you sometimes. More than once Mark had found himself with a tight throat after listening to her wax poetic about his kind heart.</p><p>"All good?" he asked with light curiosity, standing up a little straighter when Ethan stepped in closer than one would for an ordinary conversation. </p><p>"Almost," Ethan squeaked, voice seemingly failing him for a brief moment. He was clearly gearing himself up for something, jaw ticking and fingers beating restlessly against his thighs before his shoulders dropped on an exhale and he seemingly threw caution to the wind, hands settling on Mark's biceps lightly as he leaned in. </p><p>It wasn't a perfect kiss. It landed more to one side than the middle and it was a little clumsy; more like a <em>preview</em> of a kiss before Ethan reeled away, anticipating a negative reaction.</p><p>"That was terrible," Mark announced, and before Ethan had a chance to take it as a rejection he reached out, sliding his arm around Ethan's waist to draw him back in. He controlled the kiss; leaning down to bump their noses lightly together before he tipped his head, limiting it to just a chaste, sweet brush of their lips and then a soft press, inhaling the scent of sugar and wine on Ethan's breath when the younger man let out a shaky exhale against his mouth. </p><p>"Better," Mark murmured approvingly, drawing back just enough to smile at him as Ethan's fingers flexed around his arms. </p><p>Later, Amy would send them the photograph she stayed behind to take, using a nearby car as cover. It had a polaroid-like quality to it, a distance shot of the two of them pressed up against the side of Mark's car, wrapped around each other and kissing like highschool sweethearts. </p><p><em>Because memories are important to you,</em> she wrote afterwards.</p><p>Mark printed it out and taped it to the wall behind his computer monitor, leaning back in his chair. It looked lonely up there, one little square against that whole wall. But that was okay - because he and Ethan had a lifetime ahead of them to fill the space.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you enjoyed this work and have something you'd like me to write, please don't hesitate to <a href="https://krymmenosprompts.tumblr.com/">send in a prompt.</a> If you're new to my writing you can also keep up to date and read my other works by clicking on the first tag in the taglist.<br/>-JJH</p></blockquote></div></div>
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